


Halfway Gone (We Fought Long Enough)

by katebishoop



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drabble, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katebishoop/pseuds/katebishoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The world is always ending, Clarke," Bellamy said, voice low and raspy - it's not defeat she heard, but the reluctant acceptance of life. "But <i>we</i>-" He licked his dry, cracked lips. "We can still <i>begin</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halfway Gone (We Fought Long Enough)

**Author's Note:**

> _i'm halfway gone_  
>  we fought long enough, long enough  
> we were holding ropes  
> but untied to love untied to love  
> \-- [Home (Acoustic Version)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMpwD5pPlt4) \- Topic

When they were searching for a way out of the tower, they had found Roan. He was alive, albeit barely. Her mother fixed him up while Clarke explained everything else to him - Ontari was dead, ALIE was defeated, and that they had about six months under the second nuclear apocalypse.

She had pressed the flame into his hands - part of her had wanted to keep it, but she knew it wasn't hers. It never had been. It belonged with its people, and she belonged with hers.  
  
"You rebuild your society," Clarke had told him, "and we'll save the rest."  
  
That was about two weeks ago.  
  
Her people, the ones that they had been able to find, were back in Arkadia. There was still no sign of Octavia, but they had found Indra's body, removed from the cross, burning on a pyre.

She could see how it was hurting Bellamy, to not know where his sister was or how she was doing. To him, she knows, that hurt more than the cuts on his face.

She wanted to hold him, to comfort him, to tell him that everything was going to be alright, to forget everything in the world other than him. But like she had  said - _not yet_. They still had a job to do, and they both knew that.

She couldn't remember the last time she slept. Raven was working on a program to use the Ark satellite ring still in space to locate the remaining nuclear reactors. But who knows if they are even on the same continent? How would they get there? How would they even take them down? _How-_?  
  
"Clarke."  
  
She turned to see Bellamy in the open doorway. She was sitting in lock up right now. She needed a place to think, and Arkadia had never been her home, so she felt no right to take a room that belonged to someone else.  
  
He looked like a dead man walking. That's who Bellamy was, really. He'd keep on walking even when his bones begged for their grave because he was still needed, there were still people that he could protect.  
  
"I brought you dinner," Bellamy said, holding up a tray. "You haven't ate since yesterday morning."  
  
He was still trying to protect her too.

She wondered, vaguely, if he knew that whatever little she did eat yesterday she threw up not too long later, and if he's just sparing her the embarrassment. Her stomach was empty like the rest of her. She was used to it.  
  
He sat next to her on the bench, setting the tray between them. It's some kind of porridge, and an apple, a little bit of meat.  
  
"Clarke..." He said, voice soft when she just stared at the food.  
  
She pulled her knife out of her boot, stabbed one of the pieces of meat, and held it out to him. "I'll eat if you eat."  
  
She’s just as dead as him, and she's still walking, too.  
  
He let out huff of air through the ghost of a smile and pulled out his own knife to eat.  
  
They ate in silence. She noticed that he takes small bites so that she can have more, so she does the same in retaliation, so it takes a while. They cut the apple and split it, cutting away the rotten parts.  
  
She wished fixing everything else was as simple as that.  
  
"Do you want to tell me what's going on with you?" He asked, when there is no more food to stall them.  
  
Of course he noticed, that was never a question. The question was always _when_ he'd bring it up.  
  
She knew he wasn't talking about the not eating, and the not sleeping, and the not socializing. Instead he was talking about, she knew, how she's been acting around him.  
  
She's caught between fate and fear. She's drawn to him, touching him more and more- casually, absentmindedly, reassuringly. But just as much she's been pushing him away. Jerkingly yanking her hand back, avoiding him, averting her eyes.  
  
She knew that she loved him, that she was _in_ _love_ with him, and she knew that that was dangerous.

She doesn't know when she fell in love with him; she cannot pinpoint the exact moment. She doesn't know where the distinction is drawn - just suddenly she was smack dab in the middle of it. Her heart would skip a beat and her palms would sweat with worry whenever he was in danger. She'd smile brighter and laugh louder when he was around; she'd feel like she could breathe again.

She just knew that she couldn't live without him, that she couldn't lose him. He would be her breaking point.  
  
_"Start with Bellamy Blake."_  
  
And that terrified her.  
  
She wanted to be near him, but it was painful, thinking about losing him. She needed to focus on _saving_ them.  
  
"The same thing that's going on with you."  
  
She needed to say _something_ \- and that was the first thing that had popped out.

There's something going on with him too, and she's got a feeling in her gut. So she threw the ball into his court, to do with in what he will.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You're wondering if we're too late, too?"  
  
And the way he had said that - hesitant, wistful, longing, _pained_ \- she knew he was not talking about saving the human race.  
  
He was talking about _them_.  
  
It's as close to a verbal acknowledgment as they've ever come before.  
  
He picked up the tray and set it on the other side of him, and scooted closer to her so that their thighs were touching. He took both of her hands in his, and her fingers stroke the back of his of their own accord.  
  
His pulse beneath her fingertips had always been one of the most calming things.  
  
"The world is always ending, Clarke," Bellamy said, voice low raspy - it's not defeat she heard, but the reluctant acceptance of life. "But _we-_ " He licked his dry, cracked lips. "we can still _begin_."  
  
And they could, they so, so could. But it seems that the only thing they know how to do anymore is fight. They've been on the brink of death for so long that it's hard to remember a time where there wasn't blood beneath their fingernails or scars on their hearts.  
  
Born with guns in their hands and sweat on their brows, they have always been at war.  
  
They have never been with each other during peacetime - and fuck, they _still_ haven't. Because even though ALIE was defeated, they've only got just under six months left to live and society as they know it is currently up in chaos.  
  
Clarke had pulled the kill switch in the City of Light, and maybe she had done what she did to Mount Weather to the whole human race. She had thought of Bellamy in that moment, in that moment of hesitation, and she knew what she needed to do - what he would do, what _they_ would do.  
  
Even if she just had condemned them to extinction - it's okay, because she knows Bellamy would never have given up. He would have died before taking that chip, he would have gave up his life for any of them so they wouldn't have to either.  
  
If she hadn't pulled the level, he'd be dead.  
  
He still might be.  
  
But they have six months, and they should make them count.  
  
They have always done what was needed for the survival of their people. Their lives have been second to those they love, to each other.

But life should be about more than just surviving.

For one night, at least, and then maybe another, and another, because once Clarke starts she won't be able to stop, and neither would he.

If all they get is six months Clarke's not going to let them go to waste. All she wants to do is go home - to _feel_ at home, rather - and home is wherever Bellamy is - her heart, her love, her hope.  
  
She twisted one of her hands into his hair to pull him down to kiss her, and when their lips touch they _ignite_. But it's the ignition of a small flame, of a little glow of life - not an explosion, not destruction. It's the light at the end of the tunnel; it’s not just a reason to keep fighting, but to keep living.

Bellamy’s hand came up to cup her cheek, the other sure on her waist. He tastes like blood, but it’s familiar. Bellamy’s familiar, even this part of him that she has never touched before feels like she’s been doing so all her life. And she wants to keep to it for the rest of hers.

“I love you,” Clarke said, when they came up for air, a moment to breathe in one another instead of taste, “but I…”

She doesn’t know. She really doesn’t.

But Bellamy does - he gets her.

“I love you.” Bellamy pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Clarke. We’ll figure this - will figure us and everything else out. We always do.”

His nose brushed her, and Clarke felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She wished it were simple. That there wasn’t a countdown clock pressing down on their shoulders along with the rest of the world.

“Can we figure it out later?”

He chuckled softly at that, and pressed a kiss to her jaw. Clarke stole one herself, she couldn’t help it - figuring it out later didn’t mean passing him up in the meantime. Now that she had him like this she was never giving him up. 

The _not yet_ \- that didn't apply to him, anymore.

He brought his lips back to hers, warm and firm and reassuring.

They’d overcome this pain, together.

That’s how they survive.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out over on [tumblr](http://bellakeyblake.tumblr.com)!


End file.
